


Until Tomorrow Is Mine

by fiordilatte



Series: Then Suddenly, Cockpit Sex [3]
Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: 2nd Cour AU, Cockpit Sex Round 3 - Tharsis, Fist Fights, Hate Sex, I realize now that the proper term is Wolf Slaine lol, M/M, Role Reversal, shots fired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiordilatte/pseuds/fiordilatte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slaine’s going for the kill shot this time.  He’s spoiling for a fight, and Inaho is just the person to give it to him.  So naturally they beat the shit out of each other, bro down, and settle it with a good hard fuck.  In that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Tomorrow Is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I took [Gun by Chvrches](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8wdvHo6C14) way too literally. And [Years of War by Porter Robinson](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34thwBLMe4g)!

He is going to tear Kaizuka Inaho down, destroy him, erase him from existence.

He’s striven for this moment for months now, given it everything he has. He’s thrown himself into this war headfirst, and he’ll drag it out for as long as he has to in order to get the outcome he needs. Count Troyard doesn’t care how dirty his hands get in the process. He can’t guarantee results without spilling blood. It's an unfortunate price for Earth to pay, but this is the path that he’s taken.

Compassion is for fools, and it doesn't get him anywhere.

Slaine has no dreams, no aspirations; all that drives him is his need to serve justice and see it through to the very end. In the constant fight for survival, it’s as necessary as the processed oxygen that he breathes.

So far, everything has gone according to plan. The United Forces soldier has been lured to his landing castle, and has no choice but to duel him here and now. Slaine has the advantage of knowing the layout of the base by heart. Every nook and cranny has been seared into his memory, and he’s prepared for battle.

He hopes that Inaho is afraid, all alone in that KG-6. Their rivalry ends today. Only one of them can live.

Kaizuka is smart and resourceful, as expected, but Slaine is the better pilot and the Tharsis is the superior Kataphrakt.

He smashes through Inaho’s mech, brutally taking it apart piece by piece. He dodges each attempted attack with his foresight ability and fires ceaseless streams of bullets in return. Maybe he has an unfair edge, but this is war, and he can't afford to pull any punches. Not with Kaizuka Inaho, who’s already eluded him twice.

The Terran Kataphrakt is merely a pile of scrap parts when he’s done: twisted sheets of useless metal and dead wiring. Somewhere in that mess is the pilot, buried beneath the wreckage.

He exits the Tharsis, which has only sustained minor damage, and goes in to observe. His Kataphrakt casts distorted shadows against the once-pristine entryway, streaks of darkness on the white plaster.

Slaine has to see Inaho’s face with his own two eyes before he confirms the kill. He has to be absolutely certain this time, because he won’t be letting Inaho get away with his life again. There are no more chances left.

His ears prick up as he hears a small creaking sound, of metal hinges scratching along the floor. Still alive, then. He was right to be cautious. Slaine catches Inaho crawling out from the remains of the Sleipnir, and his stomach lurches. It's been so long since they’ve been in the same room together.

“There’s no escape.” Slaine lifts his gun. He’s forcing himself to move in measured, deliberate steps. “I’m ending this here.”

His aim is steady. His hands don’t shake like they used to. There won’t be any jamming, just cold, hard, metal rounds. He’s loaded his magazine cleanly and chambered the first cartridge. It’s so simple now.

“Kaizuka Inaho,” he says, almost as a formality. He’ll acknowledge that Inaho was a worthy opponent, and he’s willing to make this as cordial as possible if the other boy cooperates. That’s unlikely, though, which suits Slaine fine. He would rather have Inaho struggle anyway.

“Slaine Troyard.” Inaho’s reaching for his own gun, trying to buy time. Bad decision.

A warning shot ricochets off the wall, loud and aggressive. Slaine fires another, as he gets closer. The shells fall to the floor as he makes purposeful strides toward the UFE soldier. “Don’t.”

Slaine _needs_ Inaho to know that he isn’t fucking around. He’s not a stupid, indecisive child anymore. He’ll fill the other boy with as many holes as it takes to make sure he’s really dead.

He’s learned that mercy is for people who want to end up lying in pools of their own blood, regretting the instant they ever let their guard down. The hate runs deep and leaves ugly reminders everywhere, in the shape of thick scars and shattered ideals.

Inaho runs. Slaine shoots. The tables have truly turned.

He sprints forward, disarms Inaho while he’s still disoriented, kicks his tiny pistol across the floor. There’s a little too much emotion in his movements, and Slaine has to tell himself to cool his head, focus on the task at hand. Shoot to kill. Finish the job.

Victory tastes bitter, but it’s an easy pill to swallow.

A humourless smile forms on his lips as he presses the barrel of his gun to Inaho’s forehead. “Goodbye, Orange.” Farewell to the last thorn in his side. He squeezes the trigger -

“Too slow, Gull,” Inaho whispers, and there’s a faint whirring sound coming from his left eye as he pulls Slaine down by the wrist and knocks the handgun out of his grip in one fluid motion.

Suddenly Slaine finds himself throwing punches, and Inaho is giving just as good as he gets. They’re rolling on the floor, fists flying in disjointed arcs as they both heave for breath and try to claim the upper hand. If he’d had half a second more, this would have been over.

He scrambles for his gun, but Inaho cuffs him before he can reach it. They’ll settle it with their fists, then, like undignified Terran trash.

This should have gone more favourably, Slaine thinks, but things never do, for him. He’s used to it. Doesn’t matter. The end result is going to be the same. Inaho is already showing signs of fatigue, but Slaine will keep going for as long as it takes. This is all he has left to fight for. He has nothing to lose.

He lands a heavy hit on the other boy’s face, knuckles to mouth. “You signed your death warrant two years ago, when you took Her Highness hostage,” he says icily, then takes another violent swing.

“That wasn’t the intention,” Inaho chokes out, blood spilling from the gash in his lip. He kicks out at Slaine and a steel-toed boot slams into the young Count's chest, knocking him breathless.

“Shit!” he hisses, the pain immediate and overwhelming. Slaine feels a prick of that old but unforgotten pleasure as the bruise blossoms on his skin, enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck.

He hates that this is how his body still responds, but the throb in his chest is as thrilling as it is painful. Slaine’s on pins and needles now, angry yet aroused. His composure is fading fast, replaced by a dull heat that pulses beneath the red cloth of his uniform.

“It was always cooperation,” Inaho continues calmly, taking another methodical jab while Slaine stumbles back. “She worked with us to achieve a common goal. And I will rescue her - from you.”

Slaine goes rigid, fury gripping him in a white-hot vice. “Don’t lie to me!” he screams, and the words burn as they’re torn from his throat. “How dare you even say that to my face! You know nothing of Vers, or of Her Highness.” A vicious left hook as he regains his footing, then a fierce kick to the shin. He takes a breath, tries to steady his crumbling resolve. “I’ll... make sure to put you down like the scum you are.”

They trade more blows, Slaine’s becoming wild and unpredictable, Inaho’s remaining cool and calculated. His hits land harder because his reach is a little better, but Inaho is more accurate and strikes him in all his weakest spots when his fists and knees and feet connect.

Slaine wants to double over in pain, but he won’t stop. It’s excruciating and somehow he’s already half-hard, even as he staggers over to deal the finishing blow. Kaizuka must be punished.

He uses his momentum to tackle the other boy to the steel floor, then lodges his knees into Inaho’s sides. He’s on top again, ready to strike. He’s retrieved his gun and it’s back in his hands, triumphant and glinting in the artificial light. His bones ache and his jaw is bleeding, but he’s so close to ending this once and for all.

“Listen, Gull.”

“Shut up!” he says savagely. “Do you expect me to take orders from you?” Slaine presses harder, adds more weight, and Inaho wheezes beneath him, coughing up his own blood. “It’s over. It’s over.”

A flash of silver catches his eye, and he despises himself for getting distracted.

“Here. Closer.”

Inaho lifts the pendant to his gaze. Slaine’s heart stops for a split second -

“She said... a dear friend gave this to her.”

\- and then he’s blind with rage.

He jams the pistol into Inaho's mouth, his blue eyes incandescent with hatred. Why can’t Kaizuka just shut up like he’s told to? His finger trembles on the trigger, but he keeps the gun level.

The realization is like poison seeping into his core. It weighs down on him, suffocating in its finality. This is the person that Asseylum chose.

“I can’t kill you,” he says hollowly, a lump forming in his throat as he gets it, really gets it, “but I won’t forgive you, either.” Slaine yanks the gun back out, hears it scrape against Inaho’s teeth, and tosses it aside without a backward glance. It clatters on the floor, an echo of metal on metal ringing in his ears.

This isn’t good enough.

They’re battered and bloody, and Slaine seethes as all reason escapes him. All he wants to do is fuck Kaizuka Inaho into the ground. Maybe he can’t eliminate him permanently, but he can make him pay. For shooting him down, for putting the Princess in danger, for constantly interfering with his plans. He’ll fuck Inaho like _he’s_ been fucked before, rough and unrelenting, ruthless and raw.

Perhaps he’s no different from the other Counts, after all. Terrans might be dogs but they can still bite.

“Take off your clothes,” he utters, voice soft and dangerous. His eyes rake over Inaho’s jumpsuit, the tight-fitting uniform of the UFE pilots. It clings to the younger boy's slender frame, to his slim waist and narrow hips.

The brunet stares up at him, impassive and unreadable. His face is slightly puffy from where Slaine’s struck him, and blood continues to trickle from the open wounds - as it should.

“Now!” Slaine snaps, hauling himself to his feet. It terrifies him sometimes, how much he’s changed. There’s no room for softness or faltering. Everything he knows hangs in such a delicate balance, and if he second guesses himself he’ll fall apart.

“If that’s what it takes.” Inaho is frustratingly calm for someone who has no options left.  

Slaine’s shoulders are tense, his face pale and drawn. “Do not act as though this is a negotiation, Kaizuka.” He fixes his gaze to Inaho as the Sleipnir pilot undoes the clasp on his belt and pulls down the zipper of his uniform to reveal the mottled, bruising skin.

“Is this what you want?” Inaho asks him. “To admire your handiwork?”

He’s aware that he’s being baited but he still lunges forward, hands reaching to drag the rest of the suit off. Inaho snatches a fistful of his hair, and Slaine indulges himself in the pain, cock stiffening automatically.

“You like that,” is the careful observation.

“You will, too,” Slaine snarls, and the way he says it makes it sound like a threat. Inaho tugs at the blond locks, forcing his head back up, testing for a reaction. Slaine gives him one, a throaty moan that shows precisely how far his needs go.

He distinctly remembers the last time he’s felt like this, on his knees with tears stinging his eyes, consumed with humiliating lust. Today, though, he’s the one in charge. It’s an alien idea to him, and he’s never thought he’d be on this end, meting it out instead of receiving it. But the thought of doing this awful thing to Kaizuka Inaho makes him harder than he’s ever been before. He wants his muscles to be in agony when he fucks Inaho, and he wants his rival to feel it just as strongly. The pain is good - and being the one to cause it will be even better.

The blond wrenches out of the other boy’s grasp, makes himself stand tall and imposing. Slaine runs his palms across Inaho’s swelling bruises, pushes him up against the wall, and leans down to crush their lips together. It’s unthinkably cruel without a kiss. Even though he’s fueled by resentment, Slaine can’t bring himself to go quite as low as his predecessors. He hasn’t cracked that last defense yet, and there’s a brittle shred of humanity remaining that he’s frantically clutching onto.

But Inaho resists him, and they both agree that there is no sentimentality in their actions. So Slaine uses his teeth instead, bites down hard on the younger boy’s lower lip and lets the salty taste of blood pour into his mouth. He doesn’t have to feign remorse when he has his way.

It’s an impulsive decision, one that he’ll regret later. “Get in the Tharsis.”

He knows Kaizuka won’t make much noise, but maybe it’s better like that. He might not be able to handle it if Inaho was the sort of person who cried.

“Why are you doing this?” It’s a straight question, no criticism or blame in the mild tone.

“Because it feels good,” he spits without hesitation, pulling out his throbbing cock.

That’s as close to a civilized conversation as they’ve gotten.

Slaine doesn’t think he can bear to do it face to face, so he has Inaho bend over the control panel, the cold metal of all the complicated knobs and dials pressing into the brunet’s thin chest. It’s the most stimulating thing he’s ever seen: his rival naked, vulnerable, waiting to be fucked. In _his_ Kataphrakt. On _his_ terms.

He shoves himself in without thinking too much about it. Inaho’s quiet beneath him, only makes tiny gasping sounds when Slaine starts moving. He goes in as deep as he can, feeling Inaho wrap around him tight, squeezing down hard on his slick cock as the muscles contract. There’s a glassy, empty look in the other boy’s reflection as they lose themselves to the mindlessness and the physicality.

Lust has engulfed them both. Inaho doesn’t say anything, but Slaine can sense it in the way the other boy shudders with each angry thrust.

He’s never taken someone like this, and it hurts so good.

Slaine hasn’t had it any other way, so he’s selfish and uncompromising, nails clawing into Inaho’s small shoulders, digging into the sweat-streaked skin so intensely that his fingers seize up. He moves without holding back, slamming into Inaho with more force than he needs, making sure his legs go numb with each impact. The Count grits his teeth and tries to pretend that he can’t feel the hot tears blurring his vision as he fucks his rival.

Kaizuka Inaho doesn’t deserve his kindness or restraint. He’s ruined everything, but he still gets to play the great Terran hero that Slaine can never be.

They’re sticky with perspiration and he can only focus on sliding in and out, simply following his instincts. Slaine’s reeling with pleasure, dizzied by broken fantasies and sunken illusions. There is no glory here. He’s not sure what justice is anymore, or if he’s even worthy of it.

A few more stabs and it’s over. He cums hard and fast with a loud strangled cry, vocal cords sore with exertion.

“You... You can finish yourself off, right?” Slaine asks, and there’s a trace of that old self-conscious stutter in his voice. There’s a sharp pang of guilt, too, but he ignores it. He won’t apologize.

Inaho just nods vacantly, eyes glazed over, lips wet and glossy with saliva. Slaine exhales, his energy disappearing as he collapses into himself. He watches the puddles of cum drip down Inaho’s skin until he can’t stand it, then wordlessly throws his red overcoat to the other boy.

The Tharsis smells like sex and sweat, like pent up rage and its sudden euphoric release. They’re moments that he can’t quite capture, already slipping into the past where he doesn’t have to remember.

He feels himself deflate, exhausted, and he silently powers on the Aldnoah drive, mapping a path en route to Earth.

A truce, for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Had to dig deep for this one, Team Slaine goes hard. Such a salty ragequit (T_T)b Jokes aside, I honestly do think Slaine was the dominant top all along... though Inaho takes it like a boss.  
> Have a fantastic day!! Bonus points if you know where the title is from :)


End file.
